The Center Will Hold
by DOC3
Summary: Booth and Brennan circle the truth about their feelings for each other.  Can they hold together and reach for each other at the same time?
1. Chapter 1

Title: And the Center will Hold

Spoilers: Up to early Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.

A/N: There is a plot to this, but not really a case. There is a case, but only because it's their job to have cases, and the best part of these characters is watching them do their jobs. And in course of doing their jobs, there are moments between these characters that make me love them. So this is more a collection of those moments, in the context of doing their jobs. Leading to where we all want to see them go, of course.

* * *

"So she was pissed that you didn't stop Zack from going to Iraq? Not the whole 'you put her dad in the federal pen' thing?" Cam looked at him incredulously over the beer bottle as she took a quick swig. 

"Seriously. I couldn't believe it either. She said I should have stopped him, that I was encouraging some sort of 'alpha-male rite of passage'". Booth just shook his head as he took back his beer from Cam.

"You know, I really thought that was the reason. The fact that she wouldn't pick a replacement and was doing all the lab work herself seemed like pretty good evidence to me that she was mad about her dad. Not to mention the fact that it got like ten below in there every time you walked in," she finished with a grin.

"Gee thanks. So nice of you to notice". His laugh was a short sarcastic bark.

Tilting her head to the side thoughtfully, Cam pursed her lips and considered him for a moment. "Well… I can sort of see where she's coming from. I mean, you _could_ have stopped him you know".

"What? Cam – c'mon, get real here. You can't seriously agree with her," he sputtered, setting his bottle down harder than he intended. "Zack… he's not a kid. I'm not in charge of him too".

"Like you're in charge of her?" she snorted. "Booth, I'm her _boss_ and I'm not in charge of her". When he started to interrupt, she held up a hand and said, "No, let me finish. I said I can see where she's coming from because she has a protective streak when it comes to Zack. She expects you to share that protectiveness, that's all. I'm not saying I think you _should_ have tried to stop him – I'm just saying that he really looks up to you and would have listened to you if you insisted he stay".

At his still skeptical look, she just smiled widely and continued.

"But you two are cool now right? I don't need to insist she go out in the field again with you?"

"Yeah, we're cool. She just needed to punish me for a few months about the Zack-thing I guess," he shook his head and dug into his fries.

Tapping her cheek with her index finger, Cam surveyed him for a moment, opening and closing her mouth twice, debating on whether she should say what she was thinking. Her natural candor finally won out.

"You were scared".

"Whu?" he asked through a mouthful of fries.

"You were scared," she repeated, pointing the index finger at him this time. "You thought she was mad enough to end your relationship, make this 'partnership' strictly professional," her eyes widening as she agreed with the truth of her own words.

"Bullshit Cam," he gestured back with a fry. "I was not scared, just, you know, _concerned_. I was _concerned_ that we wouldn't be able to be an effective team anymore, if she was carrying some sort of grudge against me for putting her old man in jail. And what the hell do you mean our partnership isn't 'strictly professional'?" Now Booth jabbed a finger in her direction.

"Don't get all worked up, I just meant that you could easily do your job and she could do hers independently of each other, without all the 'symbiosis' as you put it. Being _partners_ in the field is your choice.She doesn't have to leave the lab to help you catch the bad guys, and you certainly don't have to come by the Jeffersonian several times a week to get her expertise. You could easily get what you need over the phone or by email, and-"

Booth held a hand up to interrupt her as he pulled his ringing phone from his pocket.

"Booth. Yes sir, I'm in town. No, not a bar, I'm at the diner. Two beers. On my way sir," he flipped the phone closed and stood.

"Duty calls?"

"Yeah, that was Cullen. He just got back from vacation and found out he has a press conference at nine in the morning about the silver skeleton killer. Let's just say he's not thrilled. I'm going to go catch him up on everything so he can put together a statement,"

"Do you need me?"

"Nah… he said he's keeping the presser as short as possible. If he needs more details on the 'secret society', I'll give Hodgins a call. Anyway, Cam… thanks. You know, for everything," he said, throwing bills on the table and pulling on his jacket.

"You're a good friend too Seeley," she smiled as he hurried out the door, the bell clanging in his wake.

A conscientious lover, a loyal friend, a brilliant investigator – Seeley Booth was many things to many people. To Cam Saroyan he had been all three and more, and thankful she was for all of them. Having been down the romantic road with him, she was glad they had made a u-turn and put that behind them, getting their friendship back on track. Neither of their hearts had been in it, despite the fantastic sex, and that can turn a friendship bitter quickly, she mused, finishing the last of his beer. Whether he knew it or not, and she suspected he didn't, his heart was somewhere else entirely.

Sliding off her stool, she paid quickly and traced his footsteps out the door, smiling as the cool fall air ruffled her hair.

* * *

Frowning as he surveyed the lab platform, Booth shook his head as he looked at his watch. It was only a little after seven, two hours before most of his colleagues at the Hoover building would be at work, and there were the members of the "squint squad" hard at work. It bugged him for some reason, that Bones and her team were more dedicated than most men and women of the FBI.

"Bones", he called out as he swiped his card through the card reader, "We've got to get on the road, we've got a new case."

"Booth?" she looked up from where her head was bent next to Zack's, "What are you doing here so early?"

"For your information, I got a call from the Baltimore field office at four-thirty this morning, to see if I could get you up there ASAP to i.d. a body. Just because I normally don't show up at the Jeffersonian at the ass-crack of dawn like you people doesn't mean I'm not working before nine."

"Someone's grumpy from getting woken up by the phone this morning," Jack observed in a stage whisper, never taking his eyes away from his monitor.

"I was already awake, thank you very much," Booth answered testily.

"Ah…awake at four-thirty were you? Sounds promising," Angela mused from her perch on a stool next to Jack.

"In that case, I hope your reason for being awake at four-thirty this morning was a good as mine," Jack suggested, waggling his eyebrows at Booth then sending a wink in Angela's direction.

"Real funny guys. Who knew I was working with two Jerry Seinfelds. Bones, let's go." He swept his arm in the direction of her office, but her only response was to quirk an eyebrow at him.

Sliding down from the stool Angela stood a few feet from him and stroked her chin thoughtfully. "You know, I would have pictured Booth as more of an after- midnight roll in the sheets kind of guy, not the morning nooky type, don't you think Bren?"

Booth was thankful Bones didn't reply before he said, "Could you be a little more inappropriate Angela?" When she started to speak he held up a hand. "Don't answer that."

As though he hadn't spoken, Angela continued, "Although, he _could_have met someone new…someone that opened him up to new adventures…"

"That's enough Angela, I mean it." His hand on his hip, his no- nonsense poses. It was one he used mostly with suspects during interrogations, to subtly expose his weapon and badge and convince them he meant business. It had also come in handy several times at the lab.

Angela however, was unfazed. "I supposed I'll have to smell him and see."

"_What?" _Booth was joined by Hodgins and Zach both in his look of incredulity, as they all swiveled their heads in her direction.

"It's simple, really," she continued with a wave of her hand. "When Booth was with Tessa, I could smell her perfume on him every morning, gardenias with a hint of citrus. It was feminine with a clean, refreshing note".

"You could smell that?" Booth wasn't sure if he should be horrified or impressed.

"Sure. And any time you were with Rebecca I could always catch a hint of her perfume as well – something spicy, with a strong undernote of vanilla".

He was leaning towards horrified.

"Now Cam, that was a no-brainer, really". She glanced surreptitiously around the lab to make sure her boss wasn't in the vicinity. Not seeing the pathologist, her face split into a wide smile.

"Angela…" he growled. Both hands on his hips this time.

"Dr. Saroyan doesn't wear perfume. She told me the other day that certain scents give her migraines so she avoids it altogether," Zach added, pleased to contribute to the conversation. At Booth's glare, he quickly bent back over the table to resume his examination of the bones.

"Aveda rosemary mint shampoo, silly."

"A-what?" Booth couldn't stop himself from asking. It was like being unable to look away from a train wreck.

"Aveda. It's a line of salon products Cam uses. She mostly sticks with the Rosemary Mint. And it, my dear Agent Booth, stuck with you. So…" Angela closed the gap between them on the platform.

Booth felt a cold trickle of fear crawl down his spine. He wanted to take a step back but his legs didn't cooperate quick enough.

Before he could react, her nose was buried in the collar of his dress shirt, and he felt her quickly indrawn breath. Eyes closed, she backed away a few steps then looked up at him with a frown.

"_American Crew _aftershave, with a smidgen of _Aqua di Gio_ by Armani. All Booth. Only Booth." Her pronounced disappointment at his apparent lack of morning companionship would have made him laugh under different circumstances.

"Hah! I was awake at four-thirty because _Parker_ spent the night and had a nightmare around four, not that this is any of your business." He jabbed a finger at her pointedly, then rubbed a hand over his face with an exaggerated sigh. This was not the way he wanted to begin his work day.

"Explains the hint of pancake syrup …" he heard Angela say as she climbed back up on her stool.

"Bones! Let's go. The sooner we get done in Baltimore, the sooner we get back." Striding quickly to her place by the table, he grabbed her elbow and propelled her down the steps of the platform towards her office.

As they crossed the floor to her office, he hissed in her ear, "Thanks a lot back there. You could have chimed in any time."

"I don't know why you're so upset. I find Angela's ability fascinating."

"_You knew_?" He turned a mortified face to her as they walked through her door. She ignored the look as she shrugged out of her lab coat and into a light jacket. Grabbing her bag from its place by the door, she walked past him, pausing to say over her shoulder, "Of course I knew, Booth. Not about the details of your morning _activities_, but I was aware of Angela's precise sense of smell."

Booth took a small measure of comfort from the fact Angela hadn't shared her creepily accurate assessment of his morning intimacies with Bones until today. It was stomach-turning enough to hear Angela reveal his pre-dawn companions for all the squints to hear this morning but it would have been another level of sheer wretchedness to know she had clued Bones in on this before today.

"So all this time you knew she was some sort of olfactory savant, and didn't feel inclined to share that with me?"

"It didn't come up."

Booth decided to drop it at that. Not making a big deal out of this would keep her from knowing how much it freaked him out. What Angela had _not_ said, but he had inferred with terrifying accuracy, was that if he and Bones ever acted on the omnipresent attraction between them, Angela would know immediately. Not that he had any plans to go there with Bones, mind you. Their friendship alone was a minefield he could barely navigate on a good day – a romantic relationship would be a gauntlet he knew he wouldn't get through safely. At least not with his heart intact. Nor his sanity.

* * *

"You've slept with her."

Driving the interstate south towards D.C. had thus far been quiet in the black suv. The sun was setting to his right, over Bones' shoulder, and Booth was actually enjoying the drive. Their trip to Baltimore had taken all day, but it didn't look as though they would have to return. The FBI crime scene unit would drop everything they had collected at the abandoned warehouse by the Jeffersonian, and then Brennan and the rest of the team would start on it in the morning. The lead investigator on the case was an old friend, and Booth accurately guessed this was the "her" he had supposedly slept with.

"Contrary to popular belief, Bones, I'm not some sort of man-whore. Agent Fletcher and I went through the academy together. We are old _friends_, that's all. Where do you come up with these ideas?"

"I can tell be the way you interacted, Booth. I'm not judging you, just making an observation. The number of previous sexual encounters you've experienced have no bearing on your value as a decent human being, in fact, frequent sexual contact with members of the opposite sex serve to increase your skills as an effective lover, therefore-"

"Enough, Bones! I don't need the anthropological explanation of why it's okay to sleep around. And what "interactions" did you see between Sam and I that led you to this conclusion?"

He wasn't sure why he was humoring her with this conversation. In general, he avoided the topic of sex if at all possible when she was around. She thought he was embarrassed, but in truth he just found it better to avoid dangerous territory. Talking about sex, with her, might lead to thoughts of sex, _with her._ Their last discussion about sex had been at the diner after the bizarre pony-play case, and he had hoped desperately for that to be their last conversation about anything sexual. It was unstable ground, the crumbling edge of a bottomless ravine, where they stood tentatively whenever the talk between them turned to intimacy. More often lately, he felt himself needing to pull them back from the precipice.

She seemed to be unaware of the danger, and even now was talking as though going over evidence.

"First, she called you 'Seeley', which only women you sleep with seem to call you."

"My _mother_ calls me 'Seeley' Bones, so don't go there."

"Doesn't count. And secondly, she wrapped her left hand around yours when you shook her right hand. A handshake would have signified respect and a relationship of a professional nature, whereas using both hands means that had you not been meeting in a professional capacity – i.e. a crime scene – she would have hugged you, probably with both arms, with full frontal body contact," her smirk was unmistakable as she ticked this item off on her hand.

Booth was actually beginning to get nervous. At first he thought this was going to be another one of Bones' lame attempts to use psychology, prompted by Angela no doubt, and she was generally terrible at it. This time… her description of the handshake and how she interpreted the interaction was spot on. Before he could take control of the conversation, she continued.

"And thirdly, she touched you repeatedly during the conversation. Your forearm three times and your bicep twice. The touching was what gave it away." She sounded extremely satisfied with her interpretation of the touching. Booth just stared at the road, hoping if he ignored her she would go back to whatever book she had been reading. _Book she had been reading …_His head swiveled in her direction.

"Bones, let's say you're right about Sam. Let's say she and I "saw" each other once in a while way back in the day. Where exactly are you getting all this about body language?"

"From this book I bought the other day, when I was at that Barnes and Nobles doing the book signing. It's called, 'The Clues We Miss – Non-Verbal Revelations in a Verbal World'. I picked it up thinking I could do better at reading the body language of our suspects when we interrogate them – well, when you interrogate them. I haven't had a chance to use what I've learned on any suspects yet, so I'm trying it on people around me." She answered as though this was not something totally off the wall for her to be doing.

"You do realize that this is psychology, right? And that you hate psychology?"

"Actually the author is using a very scientific approach. Thousands of scientific studies have been done on body language, Booth, and it's laid out here much like any meta-analysis, with statistical confidence intervals and probabilities."

She had lost him after 'scientific approach'. The subtext however was glaringly obvious to Booth, unfortunately. If she gained the ability to accurately read body language – and Booth had no doubt that her genius was unlimited and could extend to this if she applied herself – then she would begin interpreting every movement he made. Every touch at the base of her spine as he ushered her through doors, every hand on her arm in support when the news mentioned her father's case, every 'guy hug' he needed more than she did.

Belatedly, he realized she had asked him a question. "What?"

"_I said_was I right about Agent Fletcher? Did you sleep with her "back in the day" whatever that means?

"Absolutely not, Bones. You're way off on that one. I helped Sam with her 'Weapons' class, and she's just thankful I did, or she wouldn't have made it through the Academy, that's all."

"Oh," she answered, the disappointment obvious. Booth watched as she tossed the book back in her bag with a sigh, and leaned back in her seat, her face turned to the countryside whizzing by.

He felt a twinge of guilt for causing her disappointment, but only for a second. He went back to watching the road, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. He _had _helped Samantha with her 'Weapons' class, and therefore hadn't lied. Technically. He had simply failed to mention the creative ways she showed her appreciation for his help, those long nights in his bed.

* * *

A/N: I'm not one to beg for reviews. But I am trying a new thing, writing without having the whole story wrapped up in my head. So helpful hints and constructive criticism would be great. 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: And the Center will Hold

Spoilers: Up to early Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.

A/N: To answer some questions from reviewers: Yes, there is a case. But it's not really the focus of the story. No, Agent Fletcher isn't a "problem" for Booth and Brennan. (They are problem enough for themselves don't you think?) This is a story exploring their relationship and how they get to where we all want them to go. I'm trying multiple POVs, so hang in there.

* * *

Nine hours into what looked to be a twelve hour day, minimum, and Angela was ready to scream at someone. The most likely candidate was Jack, for the simple fact that he was hers to scream at. But she was really not annoyed at Jack. She was actually annoyed with whoever thought it was a good idea to kill the poor schmuck lying on the exam table on the platform. Because if no one had killed the guy, then they wouldn't still be at the Jeffersonian, trying to identify his remains for the FBI. Which in turn would mean they – she and Jack at least – would be at the fantastic new French fusion place in Georgetown, celebrating the discovery of her husband. Well, the discovery of his _name _at least, which was a small miracle, considering how little she had remembered about that whole Fiji experience. 

Pushing her hair back from her face, she sighed as she slid down from the stool at her work station. "Seriously Bren, how much longer before you have a skull for me?"

Straightening slowly, as her muscles screamed in protest, Brennan glared at her pointedly. "Angela - I told you ten minutes ago that I'll have the skull ready as soon as I can. Zack has determined that it was smashed by a tire iron at least 3 times – _after_ the fatal gunshot to the temporal bone. If you're in such a hurry to identify these remains, why don't you go see if you can help Hodgins collect particulates from the rest of the skeleton?"

"Eww. No thanks. I'm not scraping goo off of burnt remains. Plus, I thought the FBI was handling all that – aren't we just supposed to make a positive i.d.? Aren't they pretty sure who this is anyway?"

Stretching her hands up above her head and then slowly rolling her spine down until her palms were flat on the surface of the floor, Brennan's voice was muffled when she answered, "Yes, the FBI is pretty sure who this is. We however, are the Jeffersonian, not the FBI. To us this is an unidentified set of burnt remains, with a skull that was fractured into twenty-seven different pieces. Our job is to use empirical scientific methods – including the 'scraping of goo' as you put it – to positively determine the identity of this body. What _we_ know so far-" she raised back up and looked across the table at Angela, "is that these are the skeletal remains of an adult male, approximately twenty -nine to forty years of age, whose facial structure is consistent with that of someone of Asian descent, probably Vietnamese, that was living in the United States from the age of two or three. What the FBI knows is of no concern to us."

Unfazed by Brennan's mini-lecture, Angela asked, "Speaking of the FBI, where's Booth? Usually he's breathing down our necks right about now, asking ten million questions and not waiting for any of the answers."

Bending back over the table, Brennan said, "I don't know Angela, he doesn't check in with me. This really isn't his case anyway, it's actually Agent Fletcher's case, out of the Atlanta office. I'm sure Booth is doing whatever Booth does when we're not working a case together, he does have his own career you know."

"So is this Agent Fletcher hot too?" Angela's earlier sour mood was nearly erased at this thought. As much as she loved Booth – and she truly did, he was the best thing that had ever happened to Bren, even if her friend was totally clueless about it – she loved seeing him get all jealous and bothered when other attractive men were around. His bluff and bluster, the sheer _maleness_ of it all, was delicious to watch. Especially after the Sully debacle. Although she had really liked Sully, she had a sneaking suspicion that Booth wasn't going to take the chance of his "partner" sailing off in the sunset with any other men.

"Sure. Particularly if you are into redheads with big breasts," she answered with complete seriousness.

Angela frowned for a millisecond, then the meaning behind the words sunk in. Twisting her mouth at the top of Brennan's head, she continued after a moment.

"So Agent Fletcher is a woman huh?" Brennan nodded and continued to place tissue markers on the skull.

Well, that road _does_ run both ways. Angela could always work with whatever she was given, it was her gift. If it was good for the goose …

"Did Booth think she was hot?" Her smile was wicked.

"I didn't ask. But I think they had a relationship, several years ago. They went to the FBI academy together and she seemed inordinately glad to see him," now she looked up, snapping off her gloves. "I asked him if they had slept together."

"What?" So much for her plan to get Brennan to admit she was jealous of the big-breasted redhead. This was definitely _not _where she thought this conversation was going. Angela could only gape as Brennan continued.

"I told him that her body language indicated a previous intimate relationship – you know that book I've been reading about non-verbal cues?"

Angela could only nod and grin.

"Well, every indication was that he in fact did have a prior sexual knowledge of her, actually it was more her body language indicating a prior sexual knowledge of him, but when I asked him on the way home he denied it, saying he used to tutor her or something, and she was just _grateful _that he helped her make it through the FBI academy. I let him think I believed him."

"Wait. Back the hell up. He _lied_ to you about having slept with her, like ten years ago? Why does it matter now? And anyway, how did you know he was lying?"

"He didn't _completely_ lie, it was more of a half-truth, which is actually a half-lie. But anyway, when he was telling me the half-truth or half-lie or whatever it was, he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel – tappity-tappity-tappity."

She said this to Angela like it was the answer to everything, and handed her the skull, complete with tissue markers.

Angela took the skull without looking away from Brennan's face. "You've lost me, hon. Half-truth, half-lie. Tappity-tappity-tappity. What did I miss?"

"It was right there in chapters three and four, Angela. 'How to Recognize Untruths' and 'Non-Verbal Indications of False Information'. Clearly, Booth is like over seventy-five percent of subjects that indicate with some sort of repetitive motion when they are not being totally honest. It's a brilliant science Angela, I'm so glad you recommended that author," she finished with a slight smile. "Come find me as soon as you run the skull through the Angelator."

Angela could only watch her walk away, the skull in her hand and the missed dinner reservation long forgotten. _The student has become the master_, she thought with a chill, and shook her head.

* * *

Booth swore softly as the phone on his desk rang for what seemed like the millionth time. Unlike the portrayal of the FBI in the movies – hell, unlike that lucky bastard Andy in Bones' books – his job consisted mostly of paperwork, and preparation for court case testimony. Being a supervising agent, he didn't do the volume of legwork the younger agents in the bullpen had to do; instead he read reports, wrote reports, signed off on reports …. Booth would secretly give up the shiny office in exchange for less paperwork any day. 

"This is Agent Booth," he growled into the phone.

"Mmm, cher, you sound like someone licked the red right off your candy today."

"Caroline," his face relaxed into a half-smile. "Just disappointed I hadn't heard from you all week."

"Ahh, I'll take your sweet lies any day, darlin'. Brightens an old woman's day, to hear such nonsense from a young man like you." The AUSA had a soft spot a mile wide for the FBI agent. Not only was he one of the best she'd ever put on the stand; his work ethic and flawless case-work made her job infinitely easier. But it was Seeley Booth the man, not the FBI Agent, that she cared for the most. And it was this Seeley Booth she had called.

"Nonsense? Never, Caroline. So what brings me the pleasure of your call?" His smile was full-blown as he leaned back in his chair.

"I've got some bad news, cher. Well, I figure it will be bad news to you, and that skinny little bone doctor friend of yours. I wanted to tell you before you heard through the press," her tone was weary, as she dreaded the rest of this conversation.

"Bones? News about what?" Booth sat up straight in his chair, gripping the phone a little tighter.

"That rat bastard Max Keenan she's _lucky_ enough to have as dear ol' dad. I've met with him twice in the last week, trying to get him to take a deal. My boss wants the names of everyone he did a job with, and old Max isn't budging. If he doesn't take the deal, Booth, the US Attorney's office will likely seek the death penalty for Kirby's murder."

Her last sentence hung in the air for a moment, as Booth felt the ground beneath him fall away.

"What? The death penalty? For offing a dirty agent that was trying to kill his kids? Surely-"

"You and I know what a piece of horseshit that Kirby was, Booth. I'm with Max a hundred percent on that. But the truth is, he murdered – as in gutted and burned on a cross – the deputy director of the FBI. Dirty or no, that doesn't go down well with my boss's morning coffee. That on top of his previous crimes buys him a needle, cher. Unless we get him to deal, and I've had no luck."

"How long do we have to get him to take the deal?" Booth knew without asking what Caroline wanted him to do.

"My boss will be meeting with the FBI top brass next week, and he will inform them then what the US Attorney's office will be asking for in the case of United States vs. Max Keenan. Unless Max deals …" she let the rest of the sentence hang between them.

Booth was silent across the line, his mind churning with the thought of Max getting the death penalty. Because he _would_ be found guilty. Because he, _Special _Agent Seeley Booth, had done such a damn fine job on the case.

"Cher, I'm really sorry about all this. I know how much you care about that partner of yours. I'll do everything I can on this end, but I need those names."

"Yeah, sure. I'll, um, get back to you as soon as I can. I just – I'll need to - I've got to talk to Bones. Yeah. Thanks – thanks Caroline."

Booth stared woodenly at the phone after replacing it on the receiver. Caroline's goodbye had not even registered. The words "death penalty" rang like bells in his head, clanging over and over. Bones' face, overwhelmed by her luminous eyes, floated through his mind. Early in their partnership, before he even considered her a friend, he knew there was a permanent layer of hurt in her eyes. Some of that was erased when they found out the truth about her mother, and even more was gone when her father came back. To imagine her eyes filled back up with pain, and knowing it resulted from _doing his job _made Booth physically ill.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Booth stood slowly and shrugged into his jacket. Palming his keys, he walked to his door and flipped off the lights. With a heavy heart and a bitter taste in his mouth, he headed towards the elevator, trying to imagine the conversation he was about to have.

* * *

A/N: I'm trying not to become a review-whore, but the last ones were really helpful in formulating this chapter. There will be more to the case in the next one, I promise. 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: And the Center will Hold

Spoilers: Up to early Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.

A/N: The reviews have been really helpful – you guys are awesome. Bear with this next chapter as we explore the case a little further, and get a little deeper into how well B and B understand themselves and each other.

* * *

The glare of the fluorescent bulb was unkind in the small visitor's lounge. It was actually a pretty nice room, with comfortable seating and the all too rare privacy. The walls even had a relatively new coat of paint, with no obvious graffiti. 

"You look like hell, Booth," Max broke the silence from the doorway.

Booth flicked a glance over towards the doorway. He shrugged as he pushed himself away from the wall. He probably did look like hell, and right now couldn't care less. His jacket and tie had been discarded in the passenger seat of his suv, and now his sleeves were carelessly rolled up his forearms. His hair was mussed from running his hand through it as he drove and worked this conversation out in his mind; his five o'clock shadow told of the long day he had put in.

"You don't look so great yourself Max. Sit down, we need to talk," he gestured to the seat in front of him.

Max eyed him warily but sat. Booth chose to stand, leaning his forearms on the back of the chair across from Max.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Booth? Did you miss me?" Max grinned in response to Booth's hard stare.

"Not hardly. This isn't a social visit, and you know it," Booth fought the urge to pace.

"Nothing's happened to Tempe has it? She's okay?" Max doubted Booth would be with him if something had, but he had to quash the irrational fear that sprang up.

"She is." Booth didn't elaborate. How okay she remained was the question, given the nature of this visit.

"Then what is it, son? Something's on your mind, I can tell. Spill it to your old buddy Max."

Booth pushed back from the chair, but held on tightly to the back of it. He wanted to punch something. He gripped the cool leather a little tighter.

"Take the deal, Max. I know your lawyer has told you to take it. I know Caroline has told you to take it. Now I'm telling you to take it."

Max pondered Booth's words for a moment, and then a ghost of a grin flicked across his face. "Worried about me, huh? Don't think I can get out of this one I see. Unless I turn into a rat and spill my guts for the feds, for your friend Miz Julian. Didn't know you cared so much, Booth." Max leaned back in his chair, still grinning.

"Max, I don't care if they give you a lethal injection and then put your cold dead body in the electric chair for good measure. This isn't about you and you know it." Booth really wanted to wipe that grin off his face. If Max couldn't understand why he _had _to do whatever was necessary to stay in Bones' life this time around, then someone might have to beat the sense of it all into him. And Booth would be the first to volunteer.

Max studied the younger man for several moments, taking in the white knuckles on the back of the chair, the tension in his neck and shoulders, the measured breathing. He could hear the anger in Booth's voice, but his eyes saw something else as well. Something he could only define as anguish. The kind of anguish a man feels when he's down to his last chance, his last dime, his last day. The anguish of a drowning man that knows he'll only surface one more time.

"So how long, son?"

"How long, what?" Booth looked up in confusion.

"How long have you been in love with my daughter, Agent Booth?"

Booth gave up the fight against the need to move and began to pace. "I don't know what you're talking about Max. Bones is my partner and my friend. She doesn't deserve to be hurt again by you, that's all. I'm here to convince you not to break her heart again by being hard-headed, nothing more."

"Ah… so that's the lie you're telling yourself these days. Don't try to con an old con, my friend."

Booth started to speak again, and Max held up a hand to stop him, rising from his seat.

"It's okay, son. You don't have to admit it to me before you can admit it to yourself. I appreciate your concern for her – I _like _you Booth – and I'll take your suggestion about the deal under advisement. You're a good man, my friend, and good for her – that's all that matters to me. It should be all that matters to you. She's a smart one, my Temperance. She knows who's responsible for the mess that Max Keenan's in, and she knows it's not you."

Booth just stood there and watched Max walk out the door, after throwing a careless wave over his shoulder at Booth.

_This was not how this conversation was supposed to go_, he thought, hanging his head as he slumped back against the wall.

* * *

"Dr. Brennan? The lady at the front desk said I could find you here." 

The southern drawl from the doorway had Brennan looking up from her morning ritual of drinking coffee while reading emails at her desk. Everyone liked to tease that she was the first one at the lab, but it was really not so she could start working so early. It was so she would have at least thirty uninterrupted minutes to drink her first cup of coffee.

Brennan frowned at the woman in the doorway. For a second or two she didn't recognize who it was, and was not happy to have visitors so early. Her time alone with her coffee was precious to her, and woe be it unto those who interrupted.

Stepping further into the room, the woman began, "I'm sorry – we met in Baltimore, I'm Agent-"

"Fletcher, yes, I'm sorry. I remember you now; I just wasn't expecting to see you." Bones rose from behind her desk to shake the petite redhead's hand. She was certainly not expecting her interruption to be the agent whom she had just recently been telling Angela had most likely slept with Booth. Taking in the perfectly styled hair, flawless skin, and dazzlingly white smile she was now more than mostly sure this woman had slept with her partner, who seemed to have always had his pick of women.

"Is there something wrong with the identification we made, Agent Fletcher? I can assure you that my forensics team, as well as myself, were positive we had the remains of Ritchie Nguyen," Brennan bristled a little at the thought of her team's work being questioned. She would never have admitted her bristling might be due to other issues with the female agent.

"No, no of course not, Dr. Brennan. I was extremely pleased with your team's work, in fact, that's why I'm here – to ask for more help," Sam gestured to the file folder she was carrying.

"Were there other bodies, Agent Fletcher?" Bones frowned down at the file; they really were pretty busy at the lab at the moment and didn't have time for more burnt remains, truth be told.

"Actually, no. Can we sit?" she gestured to the sofa. She had heard through the FBI grapevine that Booth's "bone lady" was not exactly friendly, but her southern manners kept the smile firmly placed.

Brennan only nodded, and sat down eyeing her visitor suspiciously.

"Ritchie Nguyen was a small player in a big game of money laundering, drugs, and weapons. The FBI had been onto him for some time in Atlanta, where he laundered money through his chain of nail salons," Sam continued as she laid pictures out on the table from the file. "In the last year, we became suspicious that he was hooking up with a Vietnamese syndicate out of Baltimore, laundering money for a much larger drugs and guns ring, lead by the Phan family. The FBI's been after the Phan family for a long time and had serious hopes that Ritchie would take us right to them. It was Ritchie's contact within the Phan family that he was meeting that night in the warehouse."

"Agent Fletcher, this is … interesting … but I don't see how I or my team at the Jeffersonian can help you any further."

Sam laughed a little at this and nodded her head. "I know it doesn't sound like your area, at least for now since we have no more bodies. But actually, it was Dr. Hodgins' discovery during his examination of the trace evidence from Ritchie's clothes that gave us our first solid lead on the type of explosives used at the warehouse. Dr. Saroyan and I spoke on the phone earlier this week and she indicated that if you gave your approval, I could have our crime scene guys bring over some other evidence from the scene for him to run further tests on. You see, the Phan family has used explosives before to destroy evidence, much like in this case. If we can identify their explosives guy by the type of device used…"

"Then you can try to tie him to the Phans," Brennan finished for her. "Agent Fletcher, if Dr. Saroyan gave her approval for the FBI to utilize Dr. Hodgins and our equipment here at the Jeffersonian, then I can't really deny your request. I assume you will be working with Booth on this as well?" Bones stood, towering over the other woman; in a posture no more subtle than Booth exposing his gun and badge to a suspect.

Samantha Fletcher was a damn good FBI agent. She was one of the youngest women to lead a team in a large field office like Atlanta. Her colleagues respected her, her bosses appreciated her – she was widely regarded as a rising star. But she was also a woman. And it was with a woman's ears that she heard the challenge in the other woman's voice. To her credit, she didn't betray this observation.

Standing as well, she was all-business as she answered, "As of right now, Booth hasn't been read in on the case. Since you and your team normally work exclusively with him, I was planning on paying him a courtesy call at the Hoover Building this afternoon, to bring him into the loop. My agents and I will be doing the legwork and the investigation on this, but I don't want to step on his toes, borrowing 'his squints', as he calls them."

She must have said the right thing to Dr. Brennan, who seemed to exhale as she was speaking, and visibly lowered her shoulders. For all of Booth's protests that day at the crime scene, when Sam managed to pull him aside for a moment, she had a strong suspicion that there was more to his relationship with the good doctor than he let on.

"Fine then. I'll let Dr. Hodgins know to expect evidence from the warehouse to arrive today. If there's anything else…" she let the thought trail as Agent Fletcher gathered her things.

"That should be all for now, Dr. Brennan. Thank you for your cooperation; it was _interesting _speaking with you again. I'll be in Baltimore this afternoon, and then back here in D.C. before Friday."

Sam shook Brennan's hand again, hazel eyes meeting wide blue as she tried to convey her respect for the anthropologist. Instinctively she knew that making friends was out of the question. Working this case was her prime objective however, and the cooperation of Brennan and the Jeffersonian was a must.

At the door to Brennan's office, Angela and Agent Fletcher nearly collided.

As they excused themselves, and Sam continued on, Angela paused to watch her walk through the lab towards the exit.

Turning towards Brennan, she remarked, "So that's the 'redhead with big breasts' I assume? Isn't she just a Georgia peach?"

Brennan just nodded and sat back down behind her desk.

"She _is_ pretty hot, in a pixie sort of way. Not what I expected from Booth, though. His taste usually runs towards long and lean, don't you think?" Her eyes twinkled as she looked up and down Brennan's lithe frame.

"Angela … Booth's tastes in women are none of our concern," she responded, not noticing Angela's perusal.

"Oh sweetie. Remember what I told you about how I tell you the truth and wait for you to catch up? This is one of those times. Booth's taste in women is definitely your concern."

* * *

A/N: So what's the consensus on Sam Fletcher? Is she a contrived plot device or a decent character with a purpose? How was my Max? 


	4. Chapter 4

Title: And the Center will Hold

Spoilers: Up to early Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.

A/N: Two scenes that were in my head from the very initial conception of this fic. I hope I can make them as real to you as they have been to me. I love Jack Hodgins by the way. And I don't recall that it's ever been made clear whether Booth lives in an apartment or a house, but it looked like a house the times I've paid attention.

* * *

"Booth, man, long time no see. Are you here about the explosive signature? That was fast dude, I just called Agent Fletcher twenty minutes ago." Jack Hodgins was psyched to get this much done on a Friday morning before noon. If he could get everything wrapped up by three o'clock, he - damn the Jeffersonian – was leaving early. He and Angie had a dinner date and they were not postponing again.

"What? I don't know anything about an explosives signature," Booth was looking over Hodgins' head at the platform, then walking slightly past him to stick his head in Angela's office.

"From the case out of Baltimore? You know, Booth, the case with the smokin' hot agent with the delicious accent? Red hair, big…"

"Yeah, yeah, Sam Fletcher, I gotcha. Have you seen Bones anywhere, Hodgins, I really need to talk to her."

"So anyway, the timing device was a key fob – you know the keyless entry remote for a car? Some newer models actually have built-in timers that will start your car in five minutes or ten minutes, however you set it. You punch in the code, it connects to the timing device in the car, then vroom-vroom, your ignition turns. Or in this case, your warehouse is blown to smithereens."

Booth was continuing to poke his head into every office and work area, with Jack trailing him, explaining in great detail how he discovered the timing device for the bomb. Booth heard maybe every fourth or fifth word, making appropriate noises of interest and congratulations.

"So I said to Agent Fletcher, you know, Zack has never been with a redhead and really needs the experience."

That stopped Booth in his tracks. "You said _what_?"

"Dude, you haven't heard a word I said! Look, I'll just wait for Agent Fletcher to call back and fill her in, okay? And Brennan's gone to a meeting in administration, she should probably be walking back through the rose garden in the next few minutes. By the way, kidding about the Zack thing."

Booth ran a hand over his face and laughed shakily. "Sorry Jack. I just really need to talk to Bones. Call Sam about the key fob thingy, I'm sure it will be a huge help in the investigation."

Hodgins was almost out of earshot when he heard Booth call back to him, "And the thing about Zack? She'd have him for breakfast."

Booth could hear Hodgins laughter as he stepped out into the bright morning sunlight. The onset of autumn had scrubbed D.C. clean, freeing the city of the haze and smog of summer. It was a beautiful day to be outside, if only for a few moments. The grass was green from some Indian summer rains, and the fountains were crystal clear.

Scanning the expanse of green, Booth's eyes finally lit upon the tall, thin form of his partner. She had her messenger bag slung over her shoulder and was walking with the careless grace that he always associated with her. No matter the clothing, no matter the situation, Booth always saw an elegance in her bearing, an economy in her movements.

He was seated on a concrete bench as she approached, leaning forward with his hands tapping his thighs, and his shoulders slightly hunched.

"Booth, what are you doing here? I thought you were in court all day today," she slung her bag onto the ground and sat beside him on the bench.

He didn't look at her as he spoke. He stared straight ahead at the fountain in front of him, watching the water shoot straight into the air and fall back down.

"I need to talk to you about something, Bones."

Something in his tone made her turn towards him, but still he stared straight ahead. The fountain was sending mist out with the wind, away from them for the moment.

"What is it Booth?" There was an almost imperceptible twinge of fear in her voice. Something about his posture let her know things weren't okay. It didn't take a book on body language to tell her something was up that was not good news.

Since he knew of no way to soften what he had to say, and he knew her well enough to know she didn't want the truth to be softened, so he spoke quickly. "It's about Max. Caroline Julian just called and said his lawyer called her this morning and Max has rejected her latest offer of a plea agreement. She has until seven am Monday to give her boss an answer on whether Max will agree to turn over the names of everyone involved in his previous crimes. If he doesn't," Booth forced himself to look her right in the eye, "if he doesn't, then her boss has demanded she ask for the death penalty in the torture and murder of Deputy Director Kirby."

Booth wasn't sure what he expected to see in her face. Anger, maybe? She had every right to be angry at the latest cruel blow dealt to her regarding her family. Disappointment? Fear? He tensed unconsciously, afraid of what she might feel or think about the situation. About him.

The emotions never came. She knew Booth was expecting them, expecting her to feel _something_ but she just… didn't. The wind had shifted and she felt the fountain mist on her face as the seconds ticked by.

"How certain is Caroline of a conviction?" Even to her own ears she sounded clinical and detached. Booth looked miserable, and she felt as though her face was a solid mask of _nothing._

"She's pretty, um, pretty certain she has an airtight case, Bones," he fumbled, trying to follow along. "Caroline was trying to deal because of the circumstances surrounding Kirby, him being a dirty cop, and trying to kill Russ and all. But her case against your father for Kirby's murder is irrefutable. I mean, he has a good lawyer, but federal murder cases with the death penalty attached are usually a lock before the US Attorney gives the go-ahead on them to be tried. Those aren't cases a US Attorney thinks can be lost."

"I've paid a lot for that lawyer." If he didn't know her so well, her detachment would worry him more. But he knew that this was how she dealt with things; by taking a step back and looking at all the pieces one by one.

"John McAdams is the best, Bones. If anyone has a chance to beat this, he's your guy."

"He turned himself in to you. He could have run forever, but he didn't. You didn't even have to shoot him."

"I know."

"He helped find you when you were kidnapped. I couldn't have done that alone, Booth."

"I know."

They sat in silence for several more moments. The fountain spray moved on with the wind, no longer dampening their hair and clothes. He was content to sit there for as long as she needed; he knew she was working everything out in that limitless mind of hers, and would speak again when ready.

"What can _I _do Booth? What can I do to change this? To fix it?" She could feel her mask flaking off, one tiny piece at a time. Her voice was the first to betray her, as it trembled ever so slightly.

Booth's ears were well-trained, as good as his sniper's eyes. He could hear her detachment slipping. If he tried to comfort her now he knew she would hate him for exposing her weakness.

His voice was calm and sure. "Talk to him, Bones. Convince him to change his mind. Tomorrow's Saturday, you can drive up early and visit him. Caroline said she would wait all weekend to hear from McAdams; if Max changes his mind, she'll have her cell and her pager. That's all you can do."

* * *

Taking a step back from the two pieces of metal, Booth squinted at the glare reflecting back at him. The sun was directly behind him now, as he stood in his driveway. The two pieces of scrap metal were painstakingly painted and finished, their usefulness long outlived, except to help him decide which color to choose. The '77 Chevelle was nearly complete, except for the paint, and some finish work on the interior; a project that had taken him nearly 2 years of Saturdays to complete. His buddy Jimmy at the body shop had sent over samples of the two colors he was trying to decide between, a dark midnight blue and a much lighter sky blue.

He had been working on the car all day, from the time the sun came up until now, late afternoon. He was doing some last minute work under the hood – changing the plugs, checking the oil and filters, tightening belts. Anything to keep his mind from Bones and her visit to Max. It wasn't working, unfortunately, as he thought of her even as he took another step back from the paint samples. Jimmy was in favor of the darker color, but something about the light blue drew Booth's eye back yet again. He hoped she would call when she got back, but knew her too well to expect it.

Booth circled the painted metal pieces again. A car door slammed at the road and he looked up. Brennan crossed in front of her car and walked slowly up the lawn towards him. Her hair was loose and waved around her face; that along with the jeans and light sweater she wore made her look impossibly young. For a moment she looked like a Tempe to him, not a Dr. Brennan, or even his partner, Bones.

His heart was in his throat as she crossed the last few feet to stand in front of him. He prayed silently that she had good news.

Without preamble, which was her way, she said, "He's taking the deal, Booth." The fading daylight framed her face, so that he had to squint a little to look at her.

He tried to mask his long exhale, as he wiped his hands on a rag from his pocket. He hadn't been aware he was holding his breath. "Good. How?"

She knew what he was asking, and wasn't sure how to begin. _How __**did**__ she change Max's mind? _She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked a few steps past him, scrutinizing his garage wall and its collection of tools.

Sensing she wasn't ready, he gave her a reprieve. "Beer? I've got some out here in the garage."

At her nod, he walked around the car and retrieved two cold bottles from the small refrigerator. Flicking the tops in the direction of the trash, he handed one to her silently. He crossed his arms and waited, leaning back against the unpainted metal of the car.

Facing him, she took a long drink before speaking. "I told him I forgive him. I told him I forgive him for leaving Russ and I behind, that I was okay with everything that happened because it made me who I am today. I told him…" she ran a shaky hand through her hair, "I told him I need him to stick around this time, to be a father to me again."

Booth watched her internal struggle as it played out across her face. He knew she was relieved that Max was going to avoid the death penalty, but that she was having a hard time dealing with the emotions this situation had brought to the surface. He could see the pain of it in her eyes. His fingers ached with the sudden overwhelming desire to touch her, so powerful it was clouding his vision, causing everything in the periphery to fade.

"He told me you went to see him."

Again, no preamble. Her words caught him off guard and he flushed. "I'm … I'm sorry Bones. I know you told me to stay out of this, with your father, but… I thought, you know, if I talked to him …"

"It's okay, Booth. I know you were trying to help."

She reached out and put her hand on his arm, wiping a smudge from his bicep with her thumb. A simple gesture really, but from her it was a powerful thing. Bones didn't reach out to people often, literally or figuratively, and Booth realized he was holding his breath again.

They stood there for a long moment; her hand had slipped down his arm and lingered at his wrist, her long fingers encircling it as if to measure the circumference of the bones. He'd seen her do it a thousand times in her lab. Just as she let go, he gave into the ache in his hand and grasped her fingers in his.

She smiled up at him a little, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go. She drank some more of her beer, then circled around the front of the hood.

"So this is the old car you've been working on?

"Old car? _Old car?_ This is a classic 1977 Chevrolet Chevelle, Bones. The last year these babies were made under the Chevelle name. Come on, have a little respect for her."

"For her? Don't tell me that you objectify your cars too, Booth, engendering them as female, asserting your dominion over them…"

"Bones – I have worked and slaved over this beauty for two years," Booth met her around the front of the hood, "don't you even dare accuse me of not respecting…"

He stopped short when he caught her grin. "You did that just to get a rise out of me."

"Uh huh," she nodded and laughed a little.

He swatted her playfully on her arm. "Jeez, Bones. A little warning next time you plan to be funny, okay?" Her laugh was contagious. His heart was glad to see her happy. She looked so free, with her cheeks flushed from her laughter and her eyes bright without the shackles of worry.

His laughter died on his lips as it hit him. _Holy fuck__ … he __**was**__ love with her. Max had been right._

"Booth? Are you okay? You look funny," she frowned at him, tilting her head to the side.

"Uh yeah, sure, Bones. I just … I just remember I was supposed to pick some parts up at the body shop before five, and if I don't leave right now I won't get there in time." He backed away from her quickly, stumbling slightly over a wrench he'd left on the ground.

"Oh well, in that case I'll run along. Are you sure you're okay, you look pale."

"No, really, I'm fine. I just can't believe I forgot about those parts, that's all." He put the hood down on the Chevelle, and set the painted scrap metal pieces to the side, fumbling them slightly.

"I'll see you Monday then?" She still looked a little confused, but smiled as she started to walk back down his driveway.

"Monday it is. And I'm glad about Max, really glad for you, Bones."

"Thanks Booth, you know, thanks for everything." She lifted her hand in a wave, which he returned, snatching his hand back down when he saw that it was shaking.

He watched her pull away from the house, and then sank down onto an upended bucket. He felt cold and clammy all of a sudden, his world spinning like a top. This was not supposed to feel like this. Being in love was supposed to feel _good_, not feel like a left hook to the gut. Glancing over at the light blue piece of scrap metal, he pressed his palms to his eyes, when another realization hit him: he was about to paint his car the color of his partner's eyes.

* * *

A/N: I've never thought for one second Booth would like the idea of falling in love with her. What about ya'll? 


	5. Chapter 5

Title: And the Center will Hold

Spoilers: Up to early Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.

A/N: Sorry this chapter has been slow coming out. There have been a lot of really good fics out there and I get caught up reading instead of writing. This one has also been the hardest to write for some reason; let me know if it works.

* * *

"All I'm saying, Bones, is that you didn't have to antagonize the guy."

Samantha could see Booth in her rear view mirror muttering about 'squints and not belonging in interrogations'. His anger was directed at her current front seat passenger, who, much to Sam's surprise, didn't seem fazed in the least.

"You are just angry that I have learned how to interact with suspects now, Booth, and have become effective at interrogation. You are displaying a classic territorial response."

"It is not a "territorial response", Bones. You do the science-y stuff and I interrogate suspects. Not the other way around. That's how this team-thing works remember? And he would have cracked, too, if you had kept your mouth shut."

"Nooo... he would _not_ have 'cracked', whatever that means. He would have been more responsive to our questions if you would not have scared him. He was opening up to me, after I gained his respect." She turned to the front with a huff.

"His respect? Get real. You told him three days ago that you and your team would nail his protégé, and that they would both spend the next thirty-five to life in there. Obviously, you haven't "nailed" anyone, or we wouldn't have gone back to question him today. Overconfidence, Bones. It ruins an interrogation." Booth sat back in the sedan's back seat with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He'd had the last word this time.

Wrong.

Bones swiveled back around in her seat, pulling against her seatbelt. "Booth, just because we had to go back to talk to him again does not give him the upper hand. Yes, I concede that it was a tad imprudent to be overconfident in our abilities to catch whoever it is Jimmy Hannery was working with outside of prison, but we still can catch this guy. The evidence is there."

"A tad imprudent? Understatement of the year, Bones. Now he-"

"ENOUGH!" Sam Fletcher's right hand shot out between the seats, her left one still on the wheel. She glared at Booth in the rear view mirror, then at Brennan to her right.

"I've had _enough _from the two of you. Fightin' like cats and dogs for the last hour. Need I remind ya'll that this is _my_ investigation, and Jimmy Hannery is _my_ best lead? Dr. Brennan, you and your team have been invaluable but you need to keep a lid on it during _my _interrogations."

Booth smirked at her chastisement of Brennan, but the grin was wiped away quickly when she pointed a finger at him in the mirror. "And _you – you -_ were brought in on this as a courtesy, and you're making me regret it."

Booth and Brennan contritely looked at Sam, and then defiantly looked at one another. They were the most pig-headed pair she had ever worked with, bar none.

"Now, if you don't mind, we're stopping at the Royal Diner for some dinner. I've heard they have great pie."

* * *

The night air was cool when the three of them stepped out of the diner. Samantha had let them off the hook for their earlier argument, and Brennan had decided to like her a little, no matter what her past relationship with Booth had been.

"So Bones, are you parked around here close?" Booth was looking for her car on the street in front of the diner. The three of them had met there for coffee to go that morning.

"No, I'm in the parking deck two blocks down," she stated, starting to walk down the sidewalk.

"Then I'll walk with you."

"No, you're parked right here, Booth."

"_I know Bones_," he enunciated, "but I'm going to walk you to your car, it's late."

"Booth, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You don't need to walk me to my car, like I'm a helpless child."

"I didn't say you were a helpless child, but there's no reason I can't walk you to your car."

Samantha's goodnight call went unnoticed as the pair continued to bicker back and forth as they continued down the sidewalk. Which in essence meant Booth was getting his way, as he was indeed walking her straight towards the parking deck and her car.

Sam just shook her head as she turned her ignition. Booth and Dr. Brennan distinctly reminded her of her twin six year olds, Riley and Rhianne. They too bickered constantly but would defend the other to the death if necessary. Samantha grinned at the comparison. _Booth had finally met his match._

"Booth, why are you still following me?" her heels clip-clopping down the cold concrete sidewalk.

"I'm not 'following you' like some stalker Bones, I'm walking you to your car like I said," he answered testily.

"And like I said, I don't need an FBI escort to walk two blocks at nine o'clock at night, to a perfectly well-lit parking deck." She sped up a little, knowing her habit of walking really fast irritated him. Therefore, she tended to do it any time _she_ was irritated with _him_. He had been edgy and disagreeable with her for nearly a week, and tried as she might she couldn't figure out why. That afternoon in his garage everything had seemed so _real _between them, and since that day he had been a complete jerk. Must be that male menopause again…

They were climbing the stairs to the top level even as she protested him going with her, and she took the steps two at a time to annoy him further.

"Jeez, Bones, there had to have been spaces lower in this deck when we met this morning. Why the top floor?" He was apparently refusing to argue anymore, now that they were nearly to her level, and he had effectively gotten his way.

"I only park on the top level now, Booth."

She tried to keep her tone even, light almost, as she said this. She knew Booth well enough to know that he would understand almost immediately. Since the Gravedigger snatched her, along with Hodgins, she would only park on the top levels of parking decks. Top levels left very few places to hide and were usually much better lit. Dr. Sweets would have a field day with this phobia she was sure.

"Oh."

His answer was equally even but nothing approaching light. Sneaking a glance over at him, she was shocked by the tension in his shoulders and jaw. He turned to face her and for one unguarded second she saw the memory of her time buried alive burning across his face.

For a moment she didn't know what to say. She wanted to comfort him some how, although she wasn't sure why.

"Booth…"

"And there you are," he cut her off, flicking a wrist in the direction of her car. Apparently he didn't want comfort.

"Yeah, there I am. Really, I'm good from here; I can make it the rest of the way."

"So you've said, Bones. See you later okay?" He seemed anxious to get away, after forcing his accompaniment on her a few minutes earlier.

Her brow wrinkled, she started to walk toward her car, flicking the keyless entry remote. Booth was a riddle that she was beginning to think even her far above average brain could not solve. Shoving her hand in her pocket she felt the cold metal cylinder he had loaned her earlier, and turned.

"Booth!" He was standing at the stairwell, watching her walk to her car. Even when he was cross at her – and sometimes especially then – he was still there making sure of her safety. His head snapped up at her cry.

She waved the silver pen in the air, calling out, "Your lucky pen! You let me borrow it at the diner; I don't want to lose it." He had given her strict instructions to give it back to him as soon as she finished using it but then they were distracted by the waitress and the whole argument on the way to her car. Maybe returning the writing utensil he dubbed "lucky" would be a truce of sorts.

She started walking his direction and he started walking hers, their long strides perfectly in sync to have them meeting halfway across the lot.

They never got to each other, as the night sky was lit up by the white-hot explosion of her car.

* * *

AN: I know, I know, I hate cliffies too. But I think I warned everyone at the outset of this story that I'm trying new things and this is one of them. No fear though, I know how the next chapter is going to go so it shouldn't take long to write. 


	6. Chapter 6

Title: And the Center will Hold

Spoilers: Up to early Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.

A/N: This chapter is from Brennan's POV, and was one of those chapters I could see in my mind but wasn't sure if I got it right in writing. Introspection isn't my strong suit. We're working our way slowly to the conclusion, only a few chapters left. Thanks for all the helpful reviews.

* * *

From her vantage point perched just inside the back of the ambulance, Brennan could take in the whole chaotic scene. Directly across the smoky parking lot were the charred remains of her car. _I really liked that car, _she thought.

Surrounding the aforementioned car were Hodgins and Zack, and a host of technicians from the FBI crime lab. Hodgins was barely suppressing a grin at being in charge of collecting the trace evidence, although he had hugged her fiercely when he arrived on the horrific scene.

The horrific scene… indelibly imprinted on her brain.

_For a few seconds after the blast, she had lain the__re listening to sizzling metal shards land around her and heard__ as well as__ felt, the razor sharp tinkling of glass raining down. Booth had immediately been at her side._

_"Bones! Bones, look at me, are you okay?" Booth was running his hands over her, checking for injuries. She had not been rendered unconscious, but the force of the blast had thrown her to the ground, as well as Booth. He had been several yards further from the explosion, however, and did not hit the asphalt quite as hard. __She, on the other hand__, had the breath completely knocked out of her. _

_Unable to speak for a few moments, she gulped in acrid air a few times before answering. "I-I'm okay Booth. Just – just need to catch my breath." Satisfied she was unhurt for the most part, he pulled her roughly against him. "God…Temperance…." She could feel his heart pound against her ear as the words wrenched out of him._

_A few seconds passed, before he came back to himself and simply s__tood, helping her to her feet. __"C'mon Bones, lets get over here where we can breathe. I'll call Sam and get a team here; you sit down for a second and shake the glass out of your hair." _

Remembering, she shook her head again slightly and heard more slivers hitting the metal bumper of the ambulance. Booth had insisted she let the EMTs check her out, despite her protests. Except for a slight ringing in her ears, she felt fine. She knew her ribs would be sore the next day, but they were definitely not broken. And her cuts and scrapes were minor enough not to warrant more than band-aids.

Yet for once she was happy to let others take control of a crime scene. Sam had given Hodgins the green light to collect what he needed and to direct the FBI crime scene unit, so he was bossing Zack around as they collected evidence from her still smoldering car. Sam was the Agent in Charge, and was the director of the now-controlled chaos, managing the agents that had arrived at the parking deck. Booth was on his cell phone, helping her coordinate the beginning investigation.

He looked over at her from where he stood by the crime scene tape, and gave her a slight nod before returning to his conversation. She watched an EMT try to bandage a deep gash on the back of Booth's hand, caused by flying glass no doubt, as he continued to talk and gesture. The blue and red lights from the FBI vehicles illuminated his annoyance with the young man as he tried to get Booth to hold still. With an exaggerated eye roll, he finally stopped moving for a moment and let his wound be covered, then immediately resumed pacing and talking, waving his hand in frustration over something said on the other end of the line.

Bones couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from him, as his _"God…Temperance…"_ played over and over again in her mind. The ringing in her ears was not loud enough to drown out all the sounds reverberating in the cool night air, but it lent an air of focus, as she observed him. His non-bandaged hand was on his hip, with his wrist and hand peeking out from the unbuttoned sleeve of his formerly bright white dress shirt. _Booth always wears immaculately pressed white dress shirts_ she observed, as though this was a fascinating discovery about her partner. His tie was loosened, and his jacket had long been tossed away onto the trunk of another agent's car. She knew he was wishing he was wearing jeans and one of his faded tees. _Booth hates to wear a nice suit to a crime scene. But this wasn't supposed to be a crime scene, this was Booth walking me to my car, annoyed but still making sure I was safe. Booth and I were arguing and I was going to give him his pen back as a truce. His lucky pen…_

He caught her eye again, this time a slight smile accompanied his nod in her direction. She flushed a little at being caught staring, and looked away quickly, but her gaze was drawn right back to him.

It washed over her gradually, almost _crept _across her skin, one millimeter at a time. It covered her so slowly, it was as though each individual cell, each helical strand of DNA, became aware one at a time. And it moved across her consciousness in waves as well, each wave bigger than the last. Until it was like the pounding surf, relentlessly drowning each helpless grain of sand.

Once she was completely submersed in the feelings she began to recognize them. Recognize them as comfort, friendship, desire. _L__ove. She was in love with that man. In love with Booth._

It was too much. Too much to absorb after the days events. Jumping down from the back of the ambulance, she barely made it to the front bumper before her stomach emptied.

* * *

A/N: Yes, this was short, but I didn't want to drag out the cliffhanger for those of you who begged, I mean asked, for a quick update. 


	7. Chapter 7

Title: The Center will Hold

Spoilers: Up to early Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.

A/N: For those of you asking for fluff to ensue after the vomit – really gross guys by the way – sorry to disappoint. Well, disappoint on the fluff anyway, but hopefully not with story. I promise I'm a romantic at heart so that should be comforting. This is the last chapter before the conclusion, and as I've said before, thanks so much for the reviews.

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"Hey… pretty big shock for you wasn't it?"

Brennan was walking back around the ambulance when she was startled by Sam's voice. For a second she was frozen by the irrational thought that the agent knew the realization she had just come to, prior to her gastronomic eruption.

"Dr. Brennan?"

Temperance shook her head to clear it when the agent repeated her name. It was almost a surprise to realize the question was in reference to the explosion, not the 'I love Seeley Booth' sign she just knew was flashing over her head.

"I'm, um, fine, just fine. All of the adrenaline from the body's fight or flight response rushes the blood and neurotransmitters to the central nervous system and musculature. Once the immediate danger passes, the redistribution of the neurotransmitters such as dopamine, epinephrine, etc. often triggers an emetic response."

Sam just slowly nodded her head as the words rushed out of Brennan. Obviously the woman was shaken – who wouldn't be? And she wasn't the first victim of something like this that threw up. But to hear her clinical description of the event furthered her belief that this woman was…well… _odd._

"Yes, I see." Choosing to continue her questioning, she said, "I've already gotten a detailed description of what happened from Agent Booth. But I need to get your statement as well, and then you can get out of here. I'm sure you could use a hot shower and a good night's rest. Let's start with this morning when you parked up here – did you notice anything unusual?"

* * *

"Oh God, Bren, are you okay?"

Agent Fletcher had just flipped her notebook closed when Angela arrived, nearly out of breath.

"They wouldn't let me up here until just now, the whole block is closed. I was on my way home from Roanoke at that art festival when Jack called. I've been on the first level for about thirty minutes threatening to call everyone from George Bush to Steven Spielberg."

"Steven Spielberg?" Sam cocked her head to the side. The forensic artist was just a _teensy_ bit unusual, exactly what she expected from any member of Brennan's team.

"Long story. But instead of calling Steven, I finally got through to Booth and they let me come up. Back to my original question, what the hell happened?"

"Your original question was 'are you okay'", Brennan pointed out.

Angela just half-laughed, half-sobbed and yanked her friend into a crushing hug.

"I'll be in touch as soon as I hear anything, Dr. Brennan. Booth is going to arrange for your personal safety until we find out what happened. Don't leave until he has everything taken care of."

Brennan nodded mutely from over Angela's shoulder as Sam took her leave.

Angela pulled back to arms length and looked Brennan over critically. With every second of her perusal, Brennan's fear of Angela reading her recent thoughts about Booth grew. If there was ever a time to be afraid of Angela it was now.

After a moment, Angela simply asked, "Are you sure you're okay Bren?"

Letting out the breath she had been holding, Brennan answered truthfully, "I've been better. But I'm not hurt and neither is Booth. I'm mad that someone blew up my car and I hope they catch the bastard that did it. My ears are ringing and I have a slight headache, that's all."

Angela just laughed at her honesty. Trust her best friend to nearly get blown up and merely be pissed that she no longer has her car.

"Hey Angela, sorry they held you up downstairs. I think you scared those guys pretty bad." Booth jogged over to them and slung an arm around Angela for a quick one-armed hug.

"I think you scared them pretty bad yourself when you got on the line. The one guy turned white as a sheet," she laughed, squeezing him back.

"Well, you know. Big, bad, special agent like me …"

Brennan realized for the first time how envious she was of Angela's carefree way with men, Booth especially. They had such an easy friendship, the casual banter and flirting that she knew she could never be comfortable with. Angela loved to tease Booth, and he responded in kind, almost as though she was the cute little sister of a close friend. Brennan and Booth had always flirted, but it was never quite as casual nor as comfortable. _You don't have to be Dr. Sweets to understand the psychology there, Bre__nna__n_, she told herself.

"Bones, is that okay with you?"

"What?" She had no idea what Booth had just said.

"I said, we're going to sweep your house and the lab just to be safe. Is it okay with you if you go stay the night with Angela, at Jack's?"

"No it's not okay. I want to go to my own place, Booth. Surely no one could have gotten in there; it's a very secure building."

"Look Bones, asking if it was okay was basically rhetorical. You're not staying at your house or going to the lab until I get a team in there, and at this rate it would be several hours before I could let you go home."

"You are not keeping me from my apartment Booth. If you're going there to check it out first, fine, but I'm going with you."

"Not an option, Bones. You're going with Angela to Jack's. He and Zack are going back to the lab, and I'm taking you both to Jack's place myself. End of discussion."

"You can't make me go to Jack's, Booth. I'm going home. Go do your sweep or whatever, and then I'm going home to my own bed."

Angela had been watching the two of them go back and forth and was beginning to feel like a spectator at a tennis match. Normally, she thought their bickering was cute, but not this time. There was an air of desperation in Booth's voice as he argued with Bren, and she could see her friend was getting angry as well. She could tell Brennan was trying to keep the tears at bay, and if she couldn't, her anger at their appearance would be directed squarely at Booth. Bren _hated _to cry, especially in front of people.

"Dammit Bones! Could you trust me just this once? I can't find whoever did this if I'm camped out at your house watching over you!" He ran his hand through his hair to keep from slamming his fist onto the car beside him. Angela could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.

"Nobody said anything about you watching over me at my house, Booth! I can protect myself, I'm a big girl." She wanted to get away from everything, to spend the night in her bed, and forget about everything that had happened. There was the barest hint of a catch in her voice, which Angela recognized immediately.

Angela knew she needed to intervene, and so she stepped between them.

"Okay, enough, both of you. Bren, I love you, but this time I have to side with Booth. Whatever sicko blew up your darling little car, wanted to blow you up with it. That scares the bejesus out of me. Jack's place is practically a fortress, and you'll be safe there. Not to mention the sleep I know I won't get if you're not there with me. Let Booth drive us there, and check things out, then we'll have a slumber party for just us girls, okay?"

"Angela…" Brennan did not want to spend the night with Angela watching her like a hawk. She needed time to process everything that had happened, and time to tamp down whatever it was she felt for Booth. The trauma of the explosion must be making her emotionally weak.

"Well …if not a slumber party, then what about a hot bath in the gigantic guest bathroom? It's as big as your apartment, I swear. I'll make you one of my special recipe hot toddies…" Angela used her best puppy dog eyes.

"Angela… Okay, I guess I can do that. But just tonight though." She swiveled her head to glare at Booth. "Tomorrow night I'm going back to my place."

He held his hands up in surrender. "I'll take that." Whether or not she went back to her own house would be an issue they dealt with the next day.

"Fine, then. Let me speak to Hodgins and Zack first, and then I'll be ready." She knew she'd been "handled" by Angela, but she still stalked off as though she'd had a choice in the matter.

Booth was rubbing the back of his neck as he watched her walk away. The tension he felt there was going to give him a migraine.

Angela watched him for a moment, then went with her first impulse and stepped into him for a tight hug, stepping back before he could bring his arms up to squeeze back.

"What was that for?" He looked at her with a suspicious half-smile.

"Because you needed it. Because I needed it. She could have died Booth, and you and I both know it. She just doesn't understand, Booth, you have to remember that."

"She doesn't understand what, Angela?" he asked wearily.

"What it's like to have people in your life you can't live without. That already happened to her once, and she doesn't fear it like we do. Death doesn't scare her, Booth, because it's what she understands better than anything else in the world. Of all the things in this world that Bren doesn't quite get – death and dying is certainly not one of them. Just remember one thing, okay sweetie?"

"What's that, Angela?"

"Loving and being loved terrifies her."

* * *

Three days later, Brennan was in her office when Hodgins and Zack burst through her door.

"Dr. Brennan!" The shout was simultaneous as they jockeyed for position coming through her door. Hodgins managed to squeeze past Zack with a triumphant, "Hah!"

"Dr. Brennan, I've found it!" He held aloft an evidence bag filled with some sort of twisted metal and particulate matter.

"I identified what the original use was, Dr. Brennan." Zack shot Hodgins a dirty look as he shouldered next to him in front of her desk.

"What is it?" She put down the file she was reading and gestured for them to continue.

"It was the satellite radio…"

"The chemical reaction that caused the explosion …"

They both spoke at once and then stopped to glare at one another.

"One at a time, please, I can't understand what you're saying." She tried to be patient; it _was_ a learning institution, after all. "Okay, Hodgins, you first."

Zack bit his lip and glared, but held silent.

Hodgins paused to smirk at Zack, and said, "It was a mixture of C-4 and chemical solvents, a really unique combination, that we found at the scene. Once the timing device was tripped, it set off the explosion in approximately sixty seconds. The C-4 would have powered the blast, but the chemicals would have triggered enough of a secondary explosion to burn the evidence."

"Zack?"

"The keyless entry remote that you used to unlock your car triggered the satellite radio receiver, which had been rigged as the timing device for the bomb. If you hadn't gone back across the parking lot towards Agent Booth …" at Hodgins elbow, Zack stopped.

"Very good work - both of you. I will apprise Agent Fletcher of your discoveries; she will most likely come straight over and you will need to turn over your notes to her, and brief her and her team. Make sure you have everything she needs," she waved them towards her door.

As she was picking up her phone to call Sam Fletcher, Hodgins turned back around and said, "Oh yeah, Dr. Brennan, I found this at the scene. I believe it belongs to Agent Booth." In his open palm he held a silver Mont Blanc, with the initials _SB_ monogrammed on it. She dropped the receiver as she stared at it.

"Booth's pen – I thought it was lost. I'll make sure he gets it back."

She palmed the cool metal cylinder, gripping it tightly as she relived the moments before and right after the blast. Every night since the explosion she dreamt of those few moments when she felt herself flying through the air. The nightmares often morphed until she was the one watching the car explode as Booth went flying through the air. She'd awoken just this morning to a tangle of sheets and a pounding heart.

She hastily wiped her eyes when she heard voices, then realized it was Hodgins proclaiming to Zack, as they made their way across the lab, "No way man._ I_ am the king of the lab."

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A/N: Sorry this was short folks, but I wanted the last chapter to stand alone, so I shortened this one a good bit. I know everyone wanted some B&B alone time, but I didn't want to fall back on the 'Booth stays at Bones' house to protect her' storyline. Not that there aren't some really great fics with that as the premise, but this one isn't going there. Sorry :) 


	8. Chapter 8

Title: The Center will Hold

Spoilers: Up to early Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading this story. The reviews have been fantastic throughout and that's what kept this baby rolling. I hope everyone enjoys the ending. There will be a short epilogue to follow.

* * *

"Booth."

"We got him." Sam didn't have to elaborate; Booth knew exactly what she was talking about.

"How? Did he roll on your guy Hannery? Did you tie him to the Phan family and Ritchie Nguyen?"

"Easy big guy. One question at a time. First, we traced the chemicals Dr. Hodgins found in Dr. Brennan's car to a chemical supply company. Our guy works there. Second, the trace we put on Hannery's calls from prison established the connection between them – looks like they worked together on the other three explosions we think were jobs for the Phans. I had Hodgins go back over the trace at the warehouse and he found the same chemicals - there's our link to Ritchie Nguyen. Now we need to get him and Hannery to roll on the Phans, and we have them for Ritchie's murder and a list of other things. It looks like they wanted Dr. Brennan out of the way because they knew she and your 'squints' would tie everything together."

"Is this just for my information or are you letting me in on the interrogation?"

"Booth… you know I can't do that. This isn't your deal."

"Yes, this _is_ my deal, Sam. Bones is my deal." He was trying really hard not to raise his voice.

"And you're sticking to your story about being just partners, huh?" Sam couldn't help but laugh a little at him. Men were so clueless sometimes.

"Sam, we've been over this, remember? Bones and I have a close but entirely professional relationship." Booth actually sounded like he believed it – score one for him.

"Booth, _Big Mike_ and I have an entirely professional relationship. You and Dr. Brennan are another animal entirely."

"Big Mike? You call your partner 'Big Mike'?"

"He was on the Bears O-line for 5 years, Booth. He's six foot four and weighs nearly three hundred pounds. If he wanted to be called the Great and Powerful Oz, who am I to argue?" Sam wasn't fooled by Booth's change in subject for one minute, but decided to humor him. He'd had a rough few weeks.

"Speaking of the big guy, where has your partner been these last couple of weeks?"

"Knee surgery. That's why I'm up here in D.C. borrowing you and your partner, because my own is on crutches – very large crutches."

"So … you're letting me in on the interrogation? You know, to help speed things up so you can get back to Atlanta?" Booth thought his smooth change of subject would fool her into agreeing. He knew Sam was ready to go home to her husband and kids, not to mention her ginormous partner.

"Very nice try, Seeley. You are still as slippery – I mean charming – as ever. Thankfully I have built up my immunity over the years."

"Sam …"

"Listen, why don't we meet halfway on this? I can't let you in on the official interrogation, because this thing has to be airtight and you are seriously too close to it…"

"I should be in on the interrogation, Samantha." His voice was hard and tired.

Her voice softened when she answered, "You are too close, Booth. Too close to the case, and too close to her. I know it was horrible, watching your partner almost get blown up – watching someone you care about almost get blown up – but you have to trust me on this. I can get this guy and bring down the rest of the operation, if you just power down a little, okay? Meet me downstairs in thirty?"

It was more than most would have offered him, and he knew Sam was being a good friend, so he gave in.

"I'll be there."

* * *

The hot water pounded his back as he leaned both hands on the tile under the nozzle. He hung his head and let the spray pummel his neck, hoping it would loosen the muscles there. It felt like he had been carrying the weight of the last two weeks squarely on his shoulders, literally.

_The last two weeks… _

Had it really only been fourteen days since Bones came by his house after visiting her dad? Did he really just realize he loved her, fourteen days ago?

He might have realized it just two weeks ago, he thought as he rolled his shoulders, but he knew he had loved her much longer than that. Probably since he had said, "Spit in my hand, we're Scully and Mulder."

At least this case with Sam Fletcher was over, and they could try to go back to normal. Whatever normal was going to be for them now, he thought. It wasn't as if he could just walk in to her office on Monday morning and say, "Good morning Bones. Hope you had a good weekend. Yeah, mine was good, thanks. Nope, no new case. Just wanted to tell you I'm in love with you, 'kay?"

He laughed humorlessly at the thought. She was already behaving strangely around him, like he was giving off some weird vibe. He was definitely going to have to get a grip. If they were going to work together, he was going to have to get over this. His feelings for her could jeopardize their partnership, and that wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

The water was getting cold, as he turned off the shower and grabbed his towel. His head still hurt a little, but his back and neck were finally relaxed. He was pulling on his jeans when he heard the doorbell.

* * *

"Bones...hey…everything okay?" He was surprised to find her in the doorway; it was nearly midnight.

"Yeah, I was just…" she looked uncertain, almost nervous.

"In the neighborhood?" he supplied, wanting to put her at ease.

"No, not really." Trust Bones to not use the easy lie. She still stood in the doorway, not making any move to enter.

"Come on in, Bones, it's cold out there. Have a seat on the couch, can I get you something?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks." She moved over to sit on his couch. Standing there with him scrutinizing her like that made her very uncomfortable. Booth was good at reading people – too good – and she knew he would see a lie written all over her face if she told him less than the truth.

She had been sitting at home on her sofa for two hours, after Agent Fletcher had called to inform her about the arrests. She was so relieved that she could go back to her routine and back to normal, but that left her wondering what normal really was. Was it going to be normal in the lab, hoping and fearing that Booth would walk in the door any minute? Could she act like everything was status quo, on long car rides with him? What about late nights in her office, trying to maintain a professional relationship while eating takeout and falling a little more in love?

She had driven over there to talk to him, but she really had no idea exactly _what_ she planned to talk to him about. She just knew that the time to face the situation was now, as it was always her natural instinct to face everything headlong. Convincing herself that confronting her feelings for Booth was the rational course of action, she had gotten in her car and driven straight over. Now, in his presence, she was beginning to feel a little unsure of this plan.

She heard the clinking of glasses in his kitchen, and knew he would be returning in a few seconds, probably planning to ask again why she was there. That gave her precious little time to decide her answer.

He placed a half glass of red wine on the end table beside her, then sat next to her, his knee not quite close enough to touch hers.

"I thought you could use a glass of your favorite," he explained, gesturing to the ruby liquid, before taking a long pull from his beer.

She smiled slightly for the first time, as she took a sip and realized it was, indeed, her favorite. "I thought you didn't drink wine, Booth," she said over the rim of the glass. She turned a little towards him, pushing their knees close enough to rub against each other slightly.

"I don't. You do." He answered as though this explained everything. Which in his mind it did; when he went in the wine market a few months back and bought four bottles of the cabernet he knew she loved, he never questioned his motivation. At the time it didn't even occur to him that he had never done that for any woman before.

She took another sip, letting it roll around in her mouth as they sat in silence. He knew she wanted to talk about something, probably the case, and would get around to it when she was ready. No matter what other feelings he had for her, he was her friend and partner first.

"I've been having nightmares, Booth. About the explosion." Not exactly what she had planned to say, but it was the truth.

Booth didn't seem surprised, just leaned his head back onto the couch cushion and sighed.

"Yeah, Bones, me too. They'll go away with time. Are you afraid to stay at your place alone?"

"No… I'm not afraid of something happening now. But in my dreams you're the one walking away from the car and you're the one that gets blown up – I'm always at a pretty far distance. Then I can't run towards you, or warn you – it's like I know it's going to happen but I'm frozen in place."

He turned his head to look at her, and could see this was a nightmare she had relived dozens of times. Unfortunately, he was no stranger to recurring nightmares that left you twisted in the sheets, drenched with sweat, your heart pounding.

Her eyes were focused on her lap, where she twisted the hem of her sweater. He wanted to reach for her, to comfort her, to let her know how _alive_ he really was. Instead he lightly covered her hand with one of his.

"I'm okay Bones, and so are you. We got the bad guys this time; we won. It's over." He started to pull his hand away but she put her free one on top of his, trapping theirs together.

They sat there for several moments in silence, his rough hand sandwiched between her delicate ones, and he knew she was struggling for words. For as long as he could remember, he could tell when she wanted to speak and knew that keeping silent was the only encouragement that worked.

She must have made her decision, and it was not what he expected. Abruptly dropping his hand, she stood, placing her glass back on the end table.

"I should go, it's late." Her voice came out a little more forcefully than she intended, and he answered with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay…" he stood as well, confused but riding the storm of Temperance Brennan with practiced ease.

She was nearly to the door, when she turned back towards him. He had been following quickly, once he realized her intention, and was right behind her when she turned. He practically ran into her, stopping a few inches away.

"Your pen, I forgot. I brought it back to you. Jack found it at the scene," she fumbled, pulling the instrument from her pocket. She tried to take a step back from him, but realized the distance to the door allowed only a half-step at best. Her face flushed a little at the closeness, but he pretended not to notice.

He moved as if to take the pen, but instead closed her fingers around it with his own. "It's yours now, Bones."

"But it's your lucky pen…"

"The luck was in keeping you safe. Ergo, now it's yours. You walking away from the explosion was all the luck I needed." He kept his hand carefully wrapped around hers, trapping the pen within her grasp. He tried to keep his tone light, neutral even, but his voice was not complying. It had gotten softer, huskier, against his will. Standing so close he could smell her hair; his body was betraying him, one sense at a time.

She tried to tell herself there was nothing behind his words. Booth, after all, was a sentimental of sorts, and could just be saying how glad he was she – _his partne__r, just his partne__r__ - _was unhurt.

She was looking down at their joined hands, afraid to look into his eyes… knowing he would see feelings he wasn't meant to see in her own … when he began to trace a circle on the back of her hand with his thumb. She could feel him watching her, as she still looked down, when she heard him whisper her name, her given name.

"_Temperance…__"_

Booth had lost the ability to play it safe. It was as if some force far greater than he was controlling the situation, as he pressed his hand into hers around the pen. As soon as he touched her he knew he was lost. The words came from somewhere deep inside, a place he had been afraid to go, knowing he would likely be going there alone. Watching her, he took in her downcast eyes and felt the faint tremble in her hand, and it gave him the courage to say her name.

She was powerless to avoid raising her eyes to his. Slowly she lifted them, and what she saw there would have taken her breath, had she had breath left to take. Understanding, warmth, need…_love__…_ it was all there, burning through her like an open flame.

Her eyes widened as they met his. He knew she saw his heart there, and he held his breath as he awaited her response. Slowly she lifted her free hand to his cheek, lightly rubbing the stubble left by the day. He closed his eyes at her touch, turning into her palm and breathing a kiss there. He turned his head back to face her and saw his own feelings reflected in her eyes. As if in a dream, he reached for her, gently placing his hand on her jaw.

The kiss was achingly slow, painfully sweet, as their lips met tentatively. His hand slid around to cup her neck, and then tangled in her hair, as he pulled her flush against him. The kiss deepened; her tiny moan against his mouth nearly his undoing. The pen _… God it was a lucky pen …_ slid forgotten to the carpet, as she slid her hands up to grasp his shoulders.

They were consumed by their own fire, as he maneuvered them backwards away from the door. The backs of his knees bumped the sofa and he sat, pulling her down with him. Astride his lap, her body ached with need for him, trying to press closer, as he held her hips in a white-knuckled grip. He burned a trail down her neck with his lips as her head dropped back of its on volition, realizing she was an addiction he would never try to overcome. He was lost in the heat of her, when the feel of her knuckles scraping his sides as she tried to lift his shirt, brought him back to a hazy awareness.

"Bones … Bones … wait, darling… wait…" he pulled back from her lips just enough to lean his forehead against hers. He struggled for breath for a moment, holding her wrists down by her side, to still her movement.

"Booth?"

The fear he heard there broke his heart. No matter how successful she had become, how much she had achieved in her life, she was still an abandoned little girl. Before speaking, he took each hand and placed a kiss in the palm, mimicking his earlier action. He never wanted her to fear his rejection, and reassured her the best he knew how. It must have worked, because he felt her relax into him.

"Bones, I have to know something, first. Before this," he gestured between them, "goes any further. I can't be me without you in my life – if this jeopardizes _us – _I have to know. Be honest."

"We're the center, Booth, remember?" She recalled a long ago conversation, one he remembered immediately.

"And the center will hold?" he supplied.

"The center will hold," she answered.

It was all he needed, before crushing her to him, the last barrier between them swept away.

* * *

A/N: If I was a smut writer – and I just can't, I've tried – I think that's where this would have gone. So use your imaginations people! There is a very short epilogue to this, which will be posted soon. Thank you all so very, very much for reading and for the reviews. This was an outstanding experience, and one that I will treasure. I may even be inspired again by our favorite duo – who knows? 


	9. Epilogue

Title: The Center will Hold - Epilogue

Spoilers: Up to early Season 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.

A/N: Just for giggles.

* * *

It was a gray and rainy fall day, the beautiful leaves stripped from the trees and lying soggy on the ground. The kind of day that was made for homemade soup and grilled cheese, Angela thought as she shook out her umbrella under the overhang.

She was struggling to open the door against the wind, her coat blowing around her and tangling in her legs, when a hand reached out and grabbed the door handle.

"Here you go, let me get that for you," a familiar and entirely too chipper voice said.

"Booth, what are you doing here so early? And why do you sound so … _happy_?" She eyed him suspiciously, as she pushed her wet hair away from her face.

"Just glad to be alive today I guess. You know, Christmas is only twenty-nine days away," he responded, leaning around her again to open the second set of doors.

Angela just shook her head, and walked a few paces before coming to a dead stop, grabbing his sleeve and spinning him to face her. She pulled him to her with both hands on the lapels of his overcoat, inhaled quickly, and then pushed him away a step, her hands fisted on her hips.

"Lavender and lemon verbena, Booth. I'd know that scent anywhere. She _is_ my best friend, you know." Her finger poked him in the chest, as she advanced on him, her voice dripping with accusation.

A horrifying realization dawned on him, and he grabbed her index finger and pulled her to him, placing a palm over her mouth as his whispered in her ear.

"Not a word, Angela. Not…a…word."

* * *

THE END – Thanks for reading! I couldn't resist our favorite 'olfactory savant' catching on. 


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